You, My Moon.

All men are wolves,

We sniff, piss and fuck

But the moon, to each of us, wears different faces

And different times.

You, my moon,

Above me, in the coldest reaches,

How you rolled a cigarette, the marked fingers caressing magic

From the mundane

The way you drank beer from the bottle,

Made my mouth go dry

The warm salted musk of you against my mouth,

Kissing in you until you grunted with delighted surprise,

But as close and full as you were

The stories don’t always have endings you want

Sometimes the knight’s broken parts

Aren’t forged into something sharp enough

To slay that particular dragon

New lair, smaller and lacking the warmth

No more choruses of cats

Walking a dog that i was beginning to love

You, My Moon,

Above the atmosphere

Still, i can smell you










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